The Terrors of Babysitting
by Retired 5.01.2012
Summary: The creation of the first sparkling since the war began was a celebrated event...it was just the years afterward that everyone on base dreaded. Pairings and content change by the chapter. OC sparkling centered. Rated for potential mild language.


**Chapter One**: Sweet, Sweet Revenge

**Rating**: PG-13 for language

**Characters**: Sunstreaker, Light Streak (OC), Ratchet, Nightshade (OC), mentions of Sideswipe

**Pairings**: Very mild Ratchet x Nightshade.

**Warnings**: Very mild Sunstreaker abuse, but who doesn't like sparkling fluffiness?

**Author's Note**: Originally posted on DeviantArt as Xanaplayer and BloodTempest's 4k pageview kiriban winnings. (June 19, 2009) Also, I own all of my OCs. Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Yes, I am aware that robots probably don't drool, but with the organic twist to Revenge of the Fallen, I'll let Streak drool a little.

The idea of dancers belongs to **Okami-Chan **from her story Rhythm and Hues.

Also, don't try to read this series of one-shots as an actual story. These are just a series of random little drabbles involving one clueless little Light Streak and the various 'bots in his life.

* * *

Sunstreaker was bored.

Normally, he and his brother would be playing a video game together, chasing the femmes, or harassing the Hatchet (which had become so much more fulfilling and amusing now that they knew that he was a father). Sideswipe had managed to find himself a bed partner. Sunstreaker had not. Now he was sulking in the rec room because Sideswipe had kicked him out of their quarters for the night. Sunstreaker stretched out on the couch, ready to go into recharge. He buried his face into the cushion he had managed to grab before being wrestled out of the room (he was NOT going to put his face where the other 'Bots put their afts). His recharge sequence had less than a minute to go before they were initialized...and then the lights cut on.

"Turn those lights off," he barked, rolling over to face the intruder. He felt marginally guilty when he saw Nightshade. The noisy little thing she called a sparkling (but Sunstreaker called the doom of the Autobot race) was tucked away neatly in a pouch on her back. Her optics were wide with surprise. She stepped into the room.

"Sunstreaker, why are you out here alone?" she asked curiously. He fixated her with a mild glare. He could see a tiny bottle in her hands. The Thing was hungry. Sunstreaker shuddered. Feeding time for the little brat was horrible at its best. Light Streak dribbled his energon everywhere. Sometimes, he swallowed air bubbles, and the results were a few wet, messy burps.

"My brother has managed to woo a femme, and I get to recharge out here," he growled out. He was very cranky, especially since he couldn't even sleep in his own berth. Nightshade's optics widened marginally.

"Why, that's not acceptable," she said. Sunstreaker nodded, his lip curling in a sarcastic sneer. He fluffed his cushion and rested it against the arm of the couch. He leaned into it and shuttered his optics, ready to recharge. Sunstreaker hoped she would take the hint and leave already.

"No, it's not. The little slagger's usually the one out here on the couch," he said moodily, throwing his arm over his face in an attempt to block the light.

"I didn't mean that, silly. You can't possibly recharge out here by yourself. Come with me. We have a spare 'charge pad that you can use," Nightshade said, leaning over the back of the couch. Sunstreaker blinked his optic shutters, wary of her proposition. Bunk with the Hatchet himself? And his spawn. The noisy, messy, annoying little fragger. Nightshade raised one optic ridge expectantly. He grudgingly got to his feet, knowing better than to argue with her (if only because he knew that Nightshade got what she wanted, and if she didn't get what she wanted, she would go to Ratchet, and he _would_ make sure that she got what she wanted).

He knew that officers, especially ones with sparklings, got much larger quarters. They probably had a nice, big, comfortable couch for him to rest on. He could be out before Ratchet even left recharge. Besides. Their quarters were near the shower racks, and that was exactly where he planned to go in the morning. Sunstreaker followed Nightshade obediently, half-heartedly responding to her attempts to make conversation. He could feel the little devil's optics on him. Sunstreaker store a glance over at the sparkling.

Light Streak squeaked when Sunstreaker looked at him. He raised one fist and waved it at him. A long, thin strand of drool dripped off of the toy Streak had been chewing on. Sunstreaker shuddered in disgust. He subtly took a half-step away. The walk to the apartment was almost too long for him to bear. Nightshade typed in her code, commenting merrily on something that she had heard. Sunstreaker grunted. Streak gurgled.

They stepped in, and Sunstreaker goggled momentarily. Not only did they have their standard bedroom, they had a rather spacious living room, a small nursery for the Spawn of the Unmaker, and _two_, not one, but two storage rooms. He surmised that one was dedicated to Nightshade's dancing silks. Prime always did love to spoil Elita and her femmes.

"Make yourself at home, dear," Nightshade said, "and if you need energon, there's a tap over there. There's a spare cube in the cabinet."

Sunstreaker nodded, looking highly uncomfortable. A brief twinge of amusement ran through him as he wondered what Ratchet would say when he found one of the Twins in his home. He smirked, and took a seat on the edge of a very comfortable looking seat. His amusement died quickly after that. He was in the Hatchet's Lair. He looked around, appraising the decorations. He had half expected for the Hatchet to collect various instruments of torture, but there were none that he could see.

Nightshade had attempted to decorate, but with the scarcity of supplies, it looked very bare. The femme had "borrowed" some of the paint that Prime had allocated for the base walls. Now Sunstreaker knew where his paint pigments had gone, though he didn't mind much. Nightshade seemed to favor him over Sideswipe, and if it meant that he wasn't abused in the medical bay, he would allow the femme to take some of his pigments. There was a squeal, and the sound of pattering feet. Sunstreaker drew his legs up off of the floor quickly, hoping to avoid physical contact with Light Streak. The embodiment of pure evil let out a soft 'aww' when his intended target moved. Streak pouted up at Sunstreaker, holding his hands up. His tiny fingers made grasping motions.

"Streaker!" Light Streak shouted.

Sunstreaker shuddered. Why did he have to share part of his name with the sparkling? The little one had been delighted upon the discovery, and now assumed that he and Sunstreaker were the best of friends.

"Yes?" Sunstreaker ground out.

"Up! Up! Up!" he chirped. Sunstreaker's face fell as he tried to think of a way to get out of holding him.

"No."

"Pwease?"

"No."

Light Streak's optics began to water. His lower lip wavered dangerously.

_Slag_, Sunstreaker thought. He knew that Nightshade wouldn't hesitate to beat his aft if Light Streak started crying, even if he didn't do anything. She would do it merely because he was in the vicinity.

"I can't hold you because I'm not sure your mother would like that," Sunstreaker said, sounding quite proud of himself for thinking up of the excuse. Light Streak blinked, his tantrum forgotten.

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed.

_Victory_, Sunstreaker thought.

Nightshade drifted behind the couch.

"I don't mind if you hold him, Sunstreaker," she said breezily. Then she drifted into her bedroom. Sunstreaker almost snarled at the femme. Light Streak yelled happily, holding his hands up once more.

"Up, Streaker!"

Sunstreaker winced at the high pitched exclamation.

"You sure you want to sit with a mean mech like me?" Sunstreaker asked in one last desperate attempt to fend off the sparkling. Light Streak, with his giant blue optics set in an innocent stare, nodded gravely. Sunstreaker gingerly reached over, and fighting down a grimace, gently wrapped his fingers around Streak's waist. Tiny blue hands settled on his hands and he nearly let go. He quickly set Light Streak on the opposite side of the couch, as far away as he possibly could. Then he wiped his hands on the seats, hoping to rid himself of the sensation of imagined filth on his hands.

"T.V.?" Streak asked, holding the large black remote, "I wanna watch cartoons."

Sunstreaker nodded.

"As long as you stay on that side of the couch."

Light Streak began to mash buttons at random. By pure chance, he hit the big red power button. The projector hummed to life. Images began to scroll across the white square on the wall. Streak picked up the giant remote and began to push the big triangular buttons. After a moment, Light Streak found his favorite program.

" - _ I love you, you love me - _ "

Sunstreaker gaped in horror at the big purple thing on the screen.

"Aren't you sure that you'd like to see something else?" Sunstreaker asked, trying to pluck the remote from Light Streak's grip.

"No! I wanna watch this!" Streak said, holding on to the remote. He slapped Sunstreaker's hand. Sunstreaker growled to himself.

"Please?" Sunstreaker ground out.

"NO!" Light Streak wailed, "I wanna watch this!"

"Please, Light Streak, I'll watch a Spongebob marathon, anything but this," Sunstreaker hissed, neatly plucking the remote from the sparkling. Light Streak stubbornly hung onto the remote. His tiny feet dangled a foot above the couch.

"I don't like Spongebob," Streak said, "no, Streaker!" Light Streak wailed unhappily.

"What _the slag_ are you doing?!"

The sudden bellow made both mechs jump. Light Streak chirped happily and let go of the remote.

"Poppa!" he squealed, waving his hands up at the formidable red-and-white mountain of fear-eliciting medic. Sunstreaker gulped. His main spinal support strut shivered.

"Hi, Hatchet?" Sunstreaker said, waving meekly. Ratchet growled.

"Why are you in my home, tormenting my sparkling?" he snarled viciously, cradling Streak to his chest. Sunstreaker could have sworn that Light Streak looked triumphant.

"Ratchet, love!" Nightshade said, embracing her mate, "you're home early." Sunstreaker sagged in relief, thanking Primus for Nightshade's timely intervention. Ratchet kissed his femme tenderly before returning to his nasty glowering.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. I invited Sunstreaker to use our spare room," Nightshade said warmly, "it's not acceptable for him to be recharging in the rec room."

"He's a big mech. I'm certain that he can recharge wherever he pleases," Ratchet muttered lowly, his glare intensifying. Sunstreaker had the urge to hide behind Nightshade, the femme who was barely two thirds of his size.

"That's not acceptable," Nightshade said, taking Light Streak from Ratchet, "now time for your bath, mister. You're a gross little mech."

Light Streak shrieked and scrabbled for Ratchet as he desperately tried to avoid his dreaded bath time. Sunstreaker felt a morbid bubble of glee rise up in his chest. Hah, the little slagger was paying for his earlier impudence. The femme disappeared, and Sunstreaker felt what was left of his fuel tank leave with her when he realized that he would be alone with the Hatchet.

Ratchet sat down in the seat opposite the couch.

The seat creaked ominously as he shifted his weight.

Ratchet's glare intensified.

Sunstreaker gulped.

A light flickered.

"And why were you recharging in the rec room?" Ratchet asked, his voice sharp.

"Sideswipe's off fragging some femme," Sunstreaker muttered darkly. Ratchet raised one optic ridge slowly. Sunstreaker almost snarled. He knew what Ratchet was thinking - _and where's your femme_?

"And why are you in here?" Ratchet asked bluntly.

"Because your femme was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the night," Sunstreaker said, trying to end the 'conversation'. Ratchet made a 'hmph' noise before settling back. He held his hand out expectantly to Sunstreaker. The golden warrior stared at the palm of his hand for a few seconds before realizing what it was that he wanted. He slowly relaxed the death grip he had on the remote. After a moment, he stood up, and deposited the device in Ratchet's hand.

There was an hour of blessed silence. One hour of the occasional comment from Ratchet. One hour of watching some very gruesome human medical programs. Even though Sunstreaker didn't know what the slag was going on in the procedures, he found it absolutely (morbidly) fascinating. Then there was a squeal.

On reflex, Sunstreaker pulled his legs up off of the floor. Ratchet smirked as Streak came running into the living room. He bypassed Sunstreaker, and leapt at Ratchet's leg. Streak latched on, and began talking. Sunstreaker winced. The little one would have given Blurr a run for his money.

" – and I started learning my letters! Miss Epsilon is showing us the human al…alpha…letters, they look funny, and Miss Epsilon says I write good – "

"I'm very proud of you, Streak," Ratchet said, patting the Streak's head. Sunstreaker hesitantly lowered his feet back to the floor. The moment his feet touched the floor, Light Streak turned around.

"Poppa?" he asked, "why is Streaker stayin' with us?"

"Why don't you ask Sunstreaker?" Ratchet asked, a predatory smile on his face. Sunstreaker stared down at Light Streak, knowing that he had better pick his response very, very carefully.

"My brother and I had an argument," he said stiffly, resisting the urge to twitch as Light Streak took a step forward.

"Why?" Streak asked as he ever-so-slowly stepped forward.

"Because my brother is quite dumb, and he likes to argue about dumb things."

"Why?" He edged a step closer.

"I think he was dropped on his head as a sparkling."

"Why?"

Another step.

"I don't know," Sunstreaker said sharply, turning to the projector screen.

"…why?" Another tiny step, almost microscopic compared to the others.

"I don't know, Light Streak," Sunstreaker said, growing a little annoyed. He shuffled over on the couch to avoid Light Streak. The sparkling had covered quite a bit of ground while asking Sunstreaker his incessant and annoying questions.

"Why?" Streak asked again. Sunstreaker got the feeling that Ratchet was egging the little one on. Sunstreaker knew that he couldn't – and he would never dream of – retaliating against the sparkling. His life would be ended very slowly and painfully, and that was if Nightshade didn't get to him before Ratchet did.

"Because some things are beyond the comprehension of us mere mortals," Sunstreaker responded sarcastically. Light Streak blinked. There was a brief moment of silence.

"…why?"

"Ratchet, does your spawn often ask these many questions?" Sunstreaker asked, giving Light Streak a disdainful look.

"My 'spawn' has a name, Sunstreaker," Ratchet growled out, though he could not hide the amusement in his bright blue optics. Nightshade came back out into the living room. She gracefully took her seat beside Ratchet. Streak turned around immediately, his torture of Sunstreaker momentarily forgotten.

"Momma!" he yelled, acting as though he hadn't seen her in vorns. Sunstreaker clapped his hands over his audio receptors. Ratchet snickered quietly. Nightshade picked Streak up and cuddled him close, cooing as though she'd never held a sparkling before.

" - Who is my wittle sparkling? My sweet, intelligent wittle sparkling? - "

" - I am, momma! - "

" - Would you like a hug, my precious little baby? - "

" - yes, please! You're so warm, mommy! - "

Sunstreaker shuddered at the baby talk. He distinctly felt the need to purge his fuel tank. Ratchet merely watced on, his faceplates arranged in an amused smirk.

"Sunstreaker?" Nightshade asked, her voice as sweet as sugar. He looked at her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for staying with us. Light Streak adores you," Nightshade said, holding Light Streak up to emphasize her point. Streak squealed.

"He enjoys your company so much," Nightshade continued. Sunstreaker felt his optic twitch a little.

"He doesn't get much play time with all of his lessons. He appreciates you taking the time to play with him," Nightshade said. Was he imagining it, or did her smile look as predatory as Ratchet's?

"Don't you, Streak?" Nightshade asked, addressing the sparkling in her arms. Light Streak nodded, chewing on a toy that Nightshade had brought out for him.

"Why don't you go and say thank you to Uncle Sunny?" Nightshade asked. Sunstreaker's processor went blank, a horrible ringing sound growing in his audio receptors. What did she just call him? Sunstreaker felt his fuel tanks lurch unpleasantly. Light Streak nodded, squealing in delight. Nightshade placed him on the floor. The sparkling toddled over to Sunstreaker, who once again, drew his feet up. Light Streak's lower lip began to tremble. Fat fluid droplets began to leak from the corners of his optics.

That was the last 'nail' in the 'coffin' for Sunstreaker. He hurriedly picked Light Streak up, making sure to hold him as far away from his body as possible as he transferred him to the couch cushion.

"Thank you, Uncle Sunny," Light Streak said seriously. Before Sunstreaker could react, Light Streak had leapt into his lap and hugged him. His tiny hands left streaks of drool on Sunstreaker's armor.

Nightshade and Ratchet watched in amusement as Sunstreaker began to quietly gag.

"Nightshade, that was pure evil," Ratchet whispered to his mate, stroking her cheekplate with his thumb. Nightshade snuggled into his side. A small grin spread across her face plates.

"Why do you think I even invited him to stay the night?"


End file.
